Chivalry

King's men the King's barbaric murder overnight, at Berkeley Castle, by Queen Ysabeau's order.

'Ride southward,' said Lord Berners, and panted as they buckled on his disused armor; 'but harkee, Frayne! if you pass the Countess of Farrington's company, speak no syllable of your news, since it is not convenient that a lady so thoroughly and so praiseworthily—Lord, Lord, how I have fattened!—so intent on holy things, in fine, should have her meditations disturbed by any such unsettling tidings. Hey, son-in-law?'

Sir Gregory Darrell laughed, and very bitterly. 'He that is without blemish among you—' he said. Then they armed completely. 

THE END OF THE FOURTH NOVEL

V The Story of the Housewife

'Selh que m blasma vostr' amor ni m defen
Non podon far en re mon cor mellor,
Ni'l dous dezir qu'ieu ai de vos major,
Ni l'enveya' ni'l dezir, ni'l talen.'

THE FIFTH NOVEL.—PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT DARES TO

LOVE UNTHRIFTILY, AND BY THE PRODIGALITY OF HER

AFFECTION SHAMES TREACHERY, AND COMMON-SENSE,

AND HIGH ROMANCE, QUITE STOLIDLY; BUT, AS LOVING

GOES, IS OVERTOPPED BY HER MORE STOLID SQUIRE.

In the year of grace 1326, upon Walburga's Eve, some three hours after sunset (thus Nicolas begins), had you visited a certain garden on the outskirts of Valenciennes, you might there have stumbled upon a big, handsome boy, prone on the turf, where by turns he groaned and vented himself in sullen curses. The profanity had its poor palliation. Heir to England though he was, you must know that his father in the flesh had hounded him from England, as more recently his uncle Charles the Handsome had driven him from France. Now had this boy's mother and he come as suppliants to the court of that stalwart nobleman Sire William (Count of Hainault, Holland, and Zealand, and Lord of Friesland), where their arrival had evoked the suggestion that they depart at their earliest convenience. To-morrow, then, these footsore royalties, the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales, would be thrust out-o'-doors to resume the weary beggarship, to knock again upon the obdurate gates of this unsympathizing king or that deaf emperor.

Accordingly the boy aspersed his destiny. At hand a nightingale carolled as though an exiled prince were the blithest spectacle the moon knew.

There came through the garden a tall girl, running, stumbling in her haste. 'Hail, King of England!' she panted.

'Do not mock me, Philippa!' the boy half-sobbed. Sulkily he rose to his feet.

'No mockery here, my fair sweet friend. Nay, I have told my father all which happened yesterday. I pleaded for you. He questioned me very closely. And when I had ended, he stroked his beard, and presently struck one hand upon the table. 'Out of the mouth of babes!' he said. Then he said: 'My dear, I believe for certain that this lady and her son have been driven from their kingdom wrongfully. If it be for the good of God to comfort the afflicted, how much more is it commendable to help and succor one who is the daughter of a king, descended from royal lineage, and to whose blood we ourselves are related!' And accordingly he and your mother have their heads together yonder, planning an invasion of England, no less, and the dethronement of your wicked father, my Edward. And accordingly—hail, King of England!' The girl clapped her hands gleefully, what time the nightingale sang on.

But the boy kept momentary silence. Even in youth the Plantagenets were never handicapped by excessively tender hearts; yesterday in the shrubbery the boy had kissed this daughter of Count William, in part because she was a healthy and handsome person, and partly, and with consciousness of the fact, as a necessitated hazard of futurity. Well! he had found chance-taking not unfortunate. With the episode as foundation, Count William had already builded up the future queenship of England. A wealthy count could do—and, as it seemed, was now in train to do—indomitable deeds to serve his son-in-law; and now the beggar of five minutes since foresaw himself, with this girl's love as ladder, mounting to the high habitations of the King of England, the Lord of Ireland, and the Duke of Aquitaine. Thus they would herald him.

So he embraced the girl. 'Hail, Queen of England!' said the Prince; and then, 'If I forget—' His voice broke awkwardly. 'My dear, if ever I forget—!' Their lips met now, what time the nightingale discoursed as on a wager.

Presently was mingled with the bird's descant low singing of another kind. Beyond the yew-hedge as these two stood silent, breast to breast, passed young Jehan Kuypelant, the Brabant page, fitting to the accompaniment of a lute his paraphrase of the song which Archilochus of Sicyon very anciently made in honor of Venus Melaenis, the tender Venus of the Dark.

At a gap in the hedge the Brabanter paused. His melody was hastily gulped. You saw, while these two stood heart hammering against heart, his lean face silvered by the moonlight, his mouth a tiny abyss. Followed the beat of lessening footsteps, while the nightingale improvised his envoi.

But earlier Jehan Kuypelant also had sung, as though in rivalry with the bird.

Sang Jehan Kuypelant:

'Hearken and heed, Melaenis! 
For all that the litany ceased 
When Time had taken the victim, 
And flouted thy pale-lipped priest, 
And set astir in the temple 
Where burned the fire of thy shrine 
The owls and wolves of the desert— 
Yet hearken, (the issue is thine!) 
And let the heart of Atys, 
At last, at last, be mine! 

'For I have followed, nor faltered— 
Adrift in a land of dreams 
Where laughter and loving and wonder 
Contend as a clamor of streams, 
I have seen and adored the Sidonian, 
Implacable, fair and divine— 
And bending low, have implored thee 
To hearken, (the issue is thine!) 
And let the heart of Atys, 
At last, at last, be mine!'